


B2MEM 2014 - Autumn in Two Rivers

by KayleeArafinwiel



Series: B2MEM 2014 - Aragorn in the North [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:03:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeArafinwiel/pseuds/KayleeArafinwiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn's first autumn in Taduin begins with worrisome news. As the young Chieftain's adventures continue, what will he do with such tidings?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. B2MEM 2014 March 9 - Grave Tidings

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt for Autumn: "There came a night of autumn, and when it grew late, one came and smote upon the doors of Menegroth, demanding admittance to the King." (The Silmarillion, "Of the Ruin of Doriath")
> 
> Write a story or create art where the arrival of an unexpected messenger at any place in Middle-earth changes the course of events.

 

(The first bit quoted from Summer in Taduin)

 

_He woke a few hours after the dawning, feeling himself in the Hall of Fire, Lindir's harp being strummed nearby..._

_Wait, that could not be. He shot up in bed and nearly smacked his head on the top of the bunk, peering out to see a discomfited Elf picking himself up off the floor._

_"That is a fine way to greet your brother, Estel!"_

_"Elladan!"_

“Greetings, Estel,” the Peredhel said with a laugh as he rose to his feet. “Glad am I to lay eyes upon you, Little Brother. Elrohir, too, has come. We will spend the harvest in Tâduin, if you will have us.”

“I should be glad to have you with me, hanar nin,” Aragorn replied gratefully. Elladan smiled fondly in response, though his smile vanished a moment later.

 

“We have tidings from  _Adar,_ and they are of grave import. It is best that you summon Dirhael and Ivorwen, and any others you wish to sit with you when they are given.”

 

The young Chieftain sighed, and before long the Peredhil and Aragorn, along with his closest kinsmen, sat in council. The Dunedain waited for the Peredhil’s news, and it was Elrohir who spoke.

 

“It is confirmed,” he said quietly. “The fortress of Dol Guldur has once again been claimed. Mithrandir’s good cousin Radagast sends word that Khamûl, and two lesser among the Nine have taken residence there.”

“I wish it was merely that,” Elladan murmured. “Sauron himself sees to the reconstruction of the Barad-dûr even now. The Enemy is moving swiftly, Aragorn.” He laid a hand on Aragorn’s knee. “Remember all we have taught you, hanar dithen. You must be swifter. Learn the ways of your allies, and the ways of your enemies. Move in the shadows.”

 

Aragorn clenched his jaw. “You wish me to leave Tâduin.”

 

“Not now; not yet,” Elladan was quick to reassure his foster-brother. “There is work for you here yet. But you must think of Gondor and of her allies as well, not of Arnor only. You will be King. You  _must.”_

“We will help you, daerion muin,” Ivorwen said. “Tâduin is in safe hands, Aragorn. Your brothers are right; the time to move is not now, but soon.”

 

Aragorn let out a slow breath. It seemed he had only just begun to learn to call Tâduin home. Now this!

 

 


	2. B2MEM 2014 March 10 - Weaving the Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn considers his course, and seeks Carangil's counsel.

The young Chieftain sat in council with his uncles long after the Peredhil, Dirhael and Ivorwen had departed. The last remaining was Carangil, whose sightless eyes were not disturbed by the lack of light. One candle burned as the two spoke together.

 

“I am deeply concerned, Uncle,” Aragorn admitted. “I know almost naught about what I ought to do. I have been taught many things by Lord Elrond, but my brothers’ advice seemed quite cryptic.”

 

“Go not to the Elves, for they will say both no and yes,” Carangil said drily. Aragorn smiled wanly, and Carangil continued. “What do you see there, in the corner by the smoke-hole?”

 

Aragorn started, glancing in the direction Carangil indicated, where a small grey spider worked tirelessly. “How did you…” He winced. “Forgive me, my lord uncle. My words were thoughtless.”

 

“Nay, nephew; it is a fair question. Spiders have worked their webs on the roofs time out of mind,” Carangil replied. “Watch her; what do you see?”

 

“The wind from the smoke-hole tears her web,” Aragorn said slowly. “Yet she continues to rebuild and repair, until the web is strong and safe.”

 

“Even so,” Carangil agreed. “Then the web will be ready to keep her safe, and to catch her prey. Do you take a lesson from the simple spider, nephew. Move in the shadows, yes; but build your web, ere you strike. We will teach you. Ere you leave Arnor, you must have prepared the way, and this we shall help you to do.”

 

“I thank you, Uncle,” Aragorn said gratefully, “and I will welcome any help you may give.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peredhil – plural of Peredhel, Half-Elf, this refers to the sons of Elrond
> 
>  
> 
> Carangil (OC) – Brother of Arador, uncle of Arathorn II and great-uncle of Aragorn II, he lost his sight in the same attack that killed Arathorn. He was captured and one eye gouged out, the other eye (and eye socket) crushed, but the sons of Elrond were able to save him when they were too late to save his nephew, the Chieftain. Carangil is not his real name; meaning “red star” it is a name he took on in light of the red appearance of his battered and blinded remaining eye.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: The lesson Carangil teaches Aragorn through the spider’s tenacity is reminiscent of another famous King’s lesson in determination. Does it seem familiar? :)


	3. B2MEM 2014 March 11 - Harvest Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As harvest time in Tâduin begins, Aragorn and his uncle have a quiet talk.

Aragorn thought often of his uncle’s promise. It kept him occupied as he harvested the corn to hang on the roof-beams to dry; as his hands stripped husks from ears, braiding them together with unsteady fingers, he found himself preoccupied. _What allies can I make? What enemies should I tread carefully about? How can I…_

“Aragorn!”  His name being called made Aragorn start, and he looked up to find Dirhael giving him a fondly exasperated look. “Steady, there, youngling. You do not need to braid _all_ the corn together in a knot – though I am sure we all appreciate your diligence. Or have you been wool-gathering?” His eyes twinkled merrily at Aragorn’s blush.  Dirhael took the bunch of corn from him and began undoing his inexperienced knots. “Quite the web you have woven here, daerion. Now, then, perhaps you are thinking of another web?”

 

The young Chieftain nodded, a trifle meekly, and Dirhael smiled.

 

“Well, then, just be grateful you were not shelling the dried beans; you would have them all over the floor instead of in their storage pot!” Dirhael chuckled. “Best to wait until you have your thoughts on your task.”

 

Between the two, the corn was soon hung from the rafters, and Carangil walked up with a pot of shelled beans in his hands. “Walk with me, nephew, and tell me what troubles you, for I can feel it is so.”

 

So Aragorn did. “Daeradar scolded me, sir, for thinking of my troubles and plans while I ought to have been minding the corn,” he admitted, hating to admit a fault to his great-uncle.

 

“Ah, is that so. Well, I gave you much to think about,” Carangil acknowledged as they walked through Tâduin, and fell silent as they reached the storage pits. Amdir took his father’s burden down into the covered pit, while Aragorn and Carangil stayed above to talk.

 

“There is much to think about,” Aragorn said with a nod. “But perhaps…not yet.”

 

“Not while you are working on the corn, at least,” Carangil said with a faint smile. “Naught of import will happen overnight. So, learn to keep your mind on the task at hand first, nephew.” He sat on a boulder, inviting Aragorn to join him, and Aragorn got the impression that if Carangil still had eyes, he would have shut them. His face was turned toward the long house where Aragorn’s family dwelt, and Carangil _hmm-ed_ idly. “Do you know the tale of your daeradar Arador, and what happened once when he forgot his responsibilities, and his promises? No, I suppose you would not.”

 

“No, Uncle,” Aragorn said. “Tell me?”

 

“Well, it all started one autumn day when Arador was travelling to another village, not so far from this one. He was the Chieftain’s Heir then, and Argonui had sent him with a small patrol for a visit. But on the way there, he got lost…”

 

Aragorn’s eyes widened, and he listened raptly to his uncle’s tale.


	4. B2MEM 2014 March 12 - Arador and the Cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn hears the story of young Arador's misadventure from Carangil.

 

 

_Autumn 2951, Tâduin, Arnor_

 

_“Do you know the tale of your daeradar Arador, and what happened once when he forgot his responsibilities, and his promises? No, I suppose you would not.”_

_“No, Uncle,” Aragorn said. “Tell me?”_

_“Well, it all started one autumn day when Arador was travelling to another village, not so far from this one. He was the Chieftain’s Heir then, and Argonui had sent him with a small patrol for a visit. But on the way there, he got lost…”_

_Aragorn’s eyes widened, and he listened raptly to his uncle’s tale._

Autumn 2841, Arnor

 

Arador hated to admit it to himself.

 

He was lost. Nearly twenty-one years old, and he was lost. Arador shook his head in disgust. Had he not learned his lessons well enough? He had gotten separated from his company, too, due to an argument over where they were to camp.

 

If _that_ wasn’t bad enough, an early blizzard looked like it was well on its way to coming, as blizzards often did in this part of Arnor, the snows beginning early and melting late. He kicked a pebble hard, following it as it bounced over the leaf-strewn ground. _Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Roll. Halt._ As the pebble came to a stop, Arador looked up and beheld a farmer’s cottage. The storm was coming fast. He needed shelter. Quickly, Arador hurried to the cottage door and knocked.

A woman opened the door to him. She was old enough to be his mother, he thought with a quick study, and accordingly he bowed. “Good even, good-mother,” he said respectfully. “Forgive my intrusion, but the hour grows late and I have become separated from my companions. A storm approaches, and I would be glad of any shelter you might provide. I will do as you bid me in recompense.”

 

“Good even, young man,” she replied. She clearly hadn’t recognised him. _Good,_ Arador thought. “Come inside, and warm yourself by the fire. I’ve got corn-cakes baking on the hearth for supper, and if you will turn them for me so they do not burn, I would be glad of it. Do this for me, and you will have your share. I must catch Blossom and bring her under shelter before the storm hits, or her milk will sour.”

 

“Anything, good-mother,” Arador promised. “I will watch the cakes.” So he entered and knelt by the fire, watching over the corn-cakes dutifully while his hostess sought her cow.

 

_Autumn 2951, Tâduin, Arnor_

_“Uncle,” Aragorn said, “where were you when this was happening?”_

_Carangil laughed. “I? I was working the harvest and making sure all was sealed up tight before the blizzard came, like any dutiful lad of Tâduin. I would not have been allowed to accompany Arador in any case, in case something should happen to him.”_

_Aragorn nodded, seeing the sense of that. Ah, if only he had been blessed with a brother before his adar’s untimely death! He had heart-brothers, yes, but none of Arathorn’s seed._

_“Now, would you like to know what my brother did next?” Carangil asked archly, and Aragorn nodded. “Very well, then,” Carangil said, “This is how it was…”_

Autumn 2841, Arnor

 

As Arador watched the cakes, his thoughts began to drift. He inevitably found himself drawn to thoughts of his cousins and uncles, separated from him in the blizzard, and the argument they had had just before he stormed away from them. _I acted foolishly,_ he thought miserably, _and now what if I can never make it up to them? Suppose they freeze? Suppose the wolves get to them? Suppose…suppose…_ So he ‘supposed’ his way into oblivion, ignoring all round him, until the sound of indignant shouting brought him to his senses.

 

“Foolish boy! Lazy layabout! If I was your mother I’d box your ears! Look at what you have done to my cakes!” The farm wife had returned, still carrying the staff she had used to herd the cow back to the barn. She shook the staff at him threateningly, and Arador swallowed hard, staring at the lumps of charcoal on the hearth that had been the corn-cakes.

 

“I am truly sorry, good-mother, please; I only took my eyes off them for a few moments, I had no intention of—“ He fell silent at the look on her face, as she continued her angry tirade.

 

She was fierce, Arador decided, but he didn’t know that he liked that, much. She continued her tirade with, “If you were _my_ son, young man, I’d thrash you proper, grown or not! I gave you one task to do! One! You failed in a responsibility a mere child could manage!”

 

Wincing, Arador opened his mouth to apologise again, but just then the door to the barn opened, and another person entered – the farmer, Arador guessed well enough. His eyes opened wide when he laid eyes on Arador, and the farmer fell to one knee before the younger man.

 

“On your knees, woman!” the farmer snapped at his wife. “Do you not know who you are shouting at?”

 

“This?” the farmer’s wife demanded as he pulled her to the ground. “This woolgathering, ungrateful, irresponsible—“

 

“This is our Chieftain’s heir!” the farmer snapped. “Lord Arador!”

 

The woman turned red and gasped, bowing her head and murmuring an apology, but Arador shook his head slowly. “Get up, please, both of you,” he said quietly. “I deserved your scorn, good-mother. I made you a promise, and I failed to keep it. In doing so, I failed to honour the title and responsibilities I hold, and my father would be most displeased if he were to know it. My mother, too,” he added. “No doubt she would agree with all that you said.”

 

“Well,” the farmer’s wife said slowly after she and her husband had risen. “I am sure your mother would not take kindly to my scolding you so. If you would like, I will teach you to prepare the cakes. I have enough cornmeal for more.”

 

Arador dutifully helped the farmer’s wife make more cakes, but when the corn-cakes were done baking, the farmer and his wife sitting down to supper, Arador lay down on a bed of straw in the barn alone. He refused himself any food but the burned lumps, as self-imposed punishment for his thoughtlessness.

 

_Autumn 2951, Tâduin, Arnor_

_“That must have been hard for Daeradar,” Aragorn mused. “Still, it was good of him to realise that he had done wrong, and set things right.”_

_  
“Even so, nephew,” Carangil nodded. “The next morning, he found a bowl of warm oat porridge beside his pillow, and when he returned to the farmhouse to wait out the storm, he was greeted by his kinsmen, who had braved the snow to find him.”_

_Aragorn smiled. “Did Daeradar Arador ever let himself get distracted again?”_

_“Oh, many times,” Carangil smiled wryly. “But he never burned corn-cakes again!”_

_Aragorn laughed loudly. “Nor shall I, I’ve no doubt!”_


	5. B2MEM 2014 March 13 - At The Sign of the Prancing Pony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn makes his first trip to Bree.
> 
> A/N: I disclaim the title. Obviously, I am not the late and great Professor Tolkien. xD.

 

"Where are we going, Uncle Handoron?" Aragorn tried to keep the childlike excitement out of his tone, but Handoron still smiled indulgently and chuckled. Uncle and nephew rode side by side in the midst of the group, and Handoron gestured ahead as their horses trotted up the Road.

 

"That is the town of Bree, nephew," Handoron explained. "It is a town of Men, but also of Hobbits. You remember Master Baggins, I trust?"

 

Aragorn smiled. "I remember," he agreed. "I was just a child then, and Adar tried to keep me out of sight, but I saw them - Master Baggins, his thirteen Dwarven companions, and Mithrandir...I mean, Gandalf." He had never met Gandalf properly, that he recalled, but had caught sight of him from time to time when the Wizard visited Imladris, and of course he had heard many tales of Gandalf the Grey.

 

As the Rangers entered Bree, they were hailed by names Aragorn had never heard them use before, but Aragorn found it not at all unusual. He took note that Handoron was ‘Hawkeye’ and Herthedir ‘Strongbow’, but kept his silence and continued to look around eagerly. Aragorn wished he had about fifty more eyes. He could not keep from turning to try and see everything, and only Herthedir’s hand on his shoulder stilled him.

 

“Quietly now, nephew,” Herthedir murmured. “Try and keep still. You will only draw attention.” Abashed, Aragorn did as he was told, and kept his head down as he followed the more experienced Ranger into the heart of the town. He chided himself for acting so much like a green youth, but in all his life he had never seen such a place as Bree! It was so large, so busy, and so full of  _Mortals!_ Men and Hobbits, even Dwarves; he had never seen so many  _people_ that were not Elves, all in one place.

 

Before long, they reached the Prancing Pony Inn; Herthedir explained to Aragorn that it was a favourite haunt of the Dunedain when they chanced to pass that way, which was perhaps once or twice a year. The master of the inn, Bill Butterbur, and his wife Lavender (who was pregnant with their first child), welcomed the Men warmly enough, and saw them to a few tables.

 

Settled amongst his own folk, at Herthedir’s right hand, Aragorn – whose uncles had given his name out as ‘Trotter’ to Bill and Lavender – drank in the Pony’s fine ale, and the surrounding conversations, keeping his eyes open and his ears keen. Such a mix of folk meant much to be learned, he was quite sure.


	6. B2MEM 2014 March 14 - Trotter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn’s visit to Bree, continued. (This chapter and the last have some LOTR in-jokes for those who know where to look. :) )

 

_Settled amongst his own folk, at Herthedir’s right hand, Aragorn – whose uncles had given his name out as ‘Trotter’ to Bill and Lavender – drank in the Pony’s fine ale, and the surrounding conversations, keeping his eyes open and his ears keen. Such a mix of folk meant much to be learned, he was quite sure._

Aragorn noted, for instance, a nearby table occupied by Bree-hobbits (as Herthedir, or rather _Strongbow,_ was quick to inform him.) The four hobbits drank an extraordinary amount of ale for such small beings, Aragorn thought, but then they certainly _ate_ enough to counteract the strength of the liquor. Whole loaves of bread and rounds of cheese disappeared faster than one could say _Gil-Estel,_ and the dishes of preserves, baked apples, and cream were emptying at an alarming rate. The young Chieftain worried they would choke at some point if they did not slow down.

 

“Hoy! You there!” One of the elderly Hobbits glared at Aragorn. “What d’you think you’re doing, staring at us like that? Keep your eyes to yourself! What are you called, anyway, stranger?” he demanded.

 

“T-trotter,” Aragorn stammered, eyes widening. “I am sorry, small master, I truly did not mean—“

 

“Well, _young master Trotter,”_ the Hobbit said. “I’m an Underhill, I am, and I don’t take kindly to being _stared at._ So mind your manners, Big Person or no.”

 

“Yes, Master Underhill,” Aragorn said quietly. “Forgive me. I remain at your service, and your family’s,” he added, remembering his manners.

 

“We’ll see about that, eh, Master Trotter. But for now, you mind your business, and I’ll be minding mine.” With that, Bingo Underhill turned back to his companions and his hearty meal, in time to fill up the corners.

 

Aragorn, meanwhile, returned his gaze to his own plate, abashed. Handoron smiled sympathetically, though he rather agreed with Master Underhill that Aragorn had been too obvious, and he cut a second slice of steak and kidney pie – a specialty of Mistress Lavender’s – for his nephew. Murmuring his thanks, Aragorn dutifully ate.

 

The chatter around him proved to be of little consequence, Aragorn thought, though now and again he picked out phrases of interest. There was nothing worth asking questions about, though, and soon he grew bored. Finished with his pie, he found his thoughts drifting to Imladris, still so dear to him, and where the one he believed held his heart resided. Winter was coming.

**Author's Note:**

> Peredhel: Half-Elf, plural Peredhil
> 
> Hanar nin: My (blood) brother (technically, Aragorn and Elladan/Elrohir are very distant cousins, but they regard each other as brothers by blood). Hanar dithen - little brother
> 
> Dol Guldur: Hill of Sorcery, Sauron's fortress in southern Mirkwood (upon Amon Lanc, where Oropher's first stronghold stood)
> 
> Khamul: Second most powerful of the Nazgul after the Witch-King; Sauron's lieutenant
> 
> Barad-dûr: Tower of Dark Sorcery: Sauron's stronghold in Mordor
> 
> Daerion muin: (my) dear/beloved grandson


End file.
